Better In The Morning
by aching-for-distance
Summary: Fitz wakes up at 3am to find Jemma sleeping on his floor. Silly girl. ETA: Fixed paragraph breaks because AUGH FFN formatting. *fistshake*


_3am. _Fitz blinked blearily at the clock and swore under his breath. It had never been difficult for him to sleep until he'd followed Simmons into this mess of an operation. Mouth dry and foul, he grumbled and swung out of bed, promptly tripping over something. "Wha' the hell?" he muttered, looking down and finding Simmons there. Huddled under a thick blanket on the floor next to his bed, her back was pressed against the dresser, head tipped against the edge of his mattress at an uncomfortable angle. Fitz' foot had caught in the trailing edge of her blanket. "Simm- Jemma?" he rasped out, going down on one knee and reaching to jiggle her elbow. "Jemma. Are you alrigh'?"

Jemma jerked awake with a gasp, flinching back from his hand then relaxing as soon as she recognized him. Even in the dim light, her eyes were shadowed by dark circles and her expression turned nervous as soon as Jemma realized she'd been found out. "Fitz. I'm sorry," she babbled out, her soft voice catching, "I had a nightmare and couldn't sleep and I wanted to talk... But then I got here and you were already asleep and I didn't want to wake you so I thought I'd just. Sleep. Here. Yes. Silly, I know."

"No' silly," he murmured. "Y' should've woke me. I wouldna 've minded." Fitz nodded toward his now-empty bed, fighting down the irritation that she'd slept on the floor rather than crawl in with him. "Y' mus' be freezing. Go on, ge' in. I'll be righ' back."

"Where are-" Jemma began but subsided when Fitz shushed her and rose to his feet, reaching to help her up. She winced at the sharp crack from her back as she straightened and knew from the way Fitz' lips twitched into a momentary frown that he'd noticed.

"Ge' in," he repeated when she hesitated, "Is bloody cold on this damn plane." Fitz' bare feet were already reminding him of that fact. He gave a satisfied nod when she sat on the bed before he padded out to the canteen. A moment's rummaging about had the electric kettle on and two mugs out, so it wasn't more than a few minutes before he was nudging through the door to his room with two cups of chamomile tea.

Jemma was tucked into his bed, looking drowsy, but her eyes lit at the sight of the steaming mugs. "Oh, you're a darling," she said, sitting up to lean back against his pillows. She had to push her sleeves up from over her hands to take the cup he offered.

"Stealing m' sweaters again, I see. Thief," he said with a hint of affection, recognizing the thick weave of the cardigan he'd worn into the lab that day. Fitz had long since gotten used to giving up sweaters and jumpers when the weather turned - they had a running argument about the unfairness of women's clothing being so much thinner and less sturdy than men's. It was the main reason why Jemma dressed in layers all the time; she'd freeze otherwise.

Jemma's slender fingers curled around the cup and she ducked her head shyly, "I'll give it back." She was relieved that he wasn't giving her any trouble for showing up in his room. It wasn't the first time it had happened but it Fitz was a night owl and was often still awake when she popped in. Usually she'd leave if he was asleep, but this time she'd been so unsettled from her nightmare... Risking Fitz' potential sarcasm was worth not being alone.

Fitz shook his head and settled next to her on the narrow mattress, their shoulders brushing. "Don' worry about i'." He figured he already knew, but was silent for a bit before he finally spoke, "Are y' goin' to tell me why y' were sleepin' on my floor?" His brogue was still thick with sleep, even though the tea was helping to soften it.

"Do you really need to ask?" Jemma's smile was forced and tight. Fitz knew. He always knew.

"No' really, bu' I don' like assuming. Someday I migh' be wrong," he pointed out. Fitz' fingers worried at the handle of his own mug of tea. It had been weeks now and she still wasn't sleeping well. "Might be tha' Coulson was right... y' should talk ta someone. A professional," he said it gently, knowing she hated the idea.

The soft sound that she let out was horribly close to a whimper and might as well have been a kick in Fitz' stomach for the way it made him feel. "Alrigh', forge' I said anything," he said quickly. "Bu' we're a team, righ'? So jus' tell me wha' I can do an' I'll do i', I promise."

Jemma's eyes filled with tears she quickly blinked away. "I don't know what I need, Fitz. I'm so tired of being scared." Even knowing the fear was irrational, she couldn't quite get a handle on it. Worse, she was terrified the day was coming when Coulson would take her aside and tell her he was sending her back to the S.H.I.E.L.D. labs.

Even without the sort of psychic link Skye had joked about, she was right: Fitz already knew. He had eyes, didn't he? He'd seen the way Jemma trembled and grabbed hold of the nearest solid object when the plane changed altitude. The way she let him go downstairs first now so he could open the lab door before she got there. The staring at the cargo ramp was the most unsettling. Sometimes she'd be in the middle of a sentence and trail off and when he looked she'd be staring out past Lola, pale and shaking and then silent for the next hour or more.

He set his untouched tea aside and turned to her. "I know. I wish I knew how ta fix i'. Y' know I hate when y' get upset over anythin'. I mean' what I said though."

Jemma glanced over at him, one dark brow quirked up over her glossed eyes. "You've said a lot of things, Fitz. Which do you mean?" she sniffled out.

"We'll fix i' together. Same as always." Fitz glanced over at her with what he hoped was an encouraging smile and lifted his arm. "C'mere. No more o' this sleepin' on th' floor nonsense, alrigh'?"

"Okay," Jemma agreed with another watery smile. She took the open invitation and shifted to tuck herself under Fitz' arm, careful not to spill her tea all over. Once she'd settled in against his side, she murmured, "Please try not to be too sarcastic about it if this becomes a regular occurrence."

"I'm no' sarcastic," Fitz protested, then caught himself even before Jemma tipped her head back to give him a look of disbelief. "Oh, alrigh', maybe I am. But no' with this. Come crawl in w' me whenever y' want." His fair skin flushed and heated, "Tha' sounded terrible, bu' y' know wha' I mean'."

"I know," she murmured with a faint smile, then fell into thought as she finished her tea. Fitz was awkward about any sort of public affection and the potential for being teased. Risking the certain commentary from Skye and the potential ribbing from Ward about Jemma sharing his bed was a big deal. She finally reached over him to set her empty mug next to his on the nightstand and sat up.

His blue eyes swung over to her immediately, worried. The arm she'd abandoned automatically reached to catch Jemma's hand and her fingers closed around his. "Leo," Jemma said quietly.

That single word had Fitz sitting up as well. She used his first name so rarely that it warranted his full attention. Not that she didn't have it already, but that wasn't the point. "Wha' is i'?"

"Nothing. I... thank you." Her voice was quiet, but firm. "I really appreciate this."

He nearly slumped in relief. "Y' would do the same thing if i' was me," Fitz reminded her then shushed her when she tried to protest. "None o' tha'. We're FitzSimmons and tha' means we take care of each other. An' righ' now, we both need ta sleep." The engineer glanced at the clock and did a quick calculation, his fingers reaching to adjust the alarm settings. "Is almos' 4. We don' have anything pressin', we can sleep in a bit, yeah? Everythin' will look better in the mornin'. I' always does."


End file.
